


Undignified

by dramaticinsanity



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 10:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaticinsanity/pseuds/dramaticinsanity
Summary: Despite being on opposing sides of the law more often than not, Jim Gordon and Oswald Cobblepot have a tendency to save each other's lives.





	Undignified

**Author's Note:**

> This is OLD. It was originally intended to be a prequel to Let the Rain Pour I guess??? Who cares now. I hope it doesn't have too many terrible writing pitfalls. Forgive me my sins. Since I don't remember what happened in the episodes AT ALL, nor how far I diverged from canon, there may be nonsensical mistakes if anything was supposed to be fixed or filled in, which I also don't remember. Just, fair warning. 
> 
> Though Gotham is over, and my investment dwindled somewhere between season 2 and 4, Gobblepot will always have a special place in my heart ♥♥♥ Goodbye, my friend in the dark. I wouldn't have found the light without you.

"Post 1x05"

If they crossed paths again, Jim swore he would strangle that little punk once and for all and be done with it. Well, he wanted to be able to swear. In his heart, he knew that he could never go through with it. It's not that he cared about Cobblepot, but he had no proof that everything was somehow his fault. It was just a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. When he looked at the situation, he continuously wondered if there was more to it than first appeared; something sinister and deadly behind Cobblepot's seemingly harmless words.

It could consume him, if he allowed it. More and more, he felt like he was missing something, or maybe that something was missing; from his life, that is. He was happy with Barbara wasn't he? Probably, Gotham was to blame. The stale air had dried out the passion. It was rapidly ebbing away, no matter how hard he tried to salvage it.

He found himself hoping, ridiculously, that Oswald would come sweeping in as he did before. He yearned for some sort of closure, that he was certain only Cobblepot could bring him. He hated waiting around for whatever was bound to come crashing down on him next.

He was definitely more than a little crazy at this point. There had been a shift in the universe when they had first made eye contact. He was seriously doubting it would ever right itself.

Maybe, just maybe, he liked it.

He took a final sip of his coffee then adjusted his tie into the correct position. As he was on his way out the door, he was unexpectedly stopped in the hallway by Barbara. Her eyes were wide, and it was clear she was a little nervous about something. Jim barely noticed. The call he had gotten and his thoughts about Cobblepot had set him on edge. He was ready for action.

"Where are you off to? There's something I have to-"

"I can't talk right now, there's a case. I have to get right on," he informed her, slipping past her and into the elevator. He felt guilty about it, but they could talk later. If it was that urgent, she would follow him. When she did not appear, he settled down a bit.

_Detective Gordon,_

_I really appreciate what you did for me. You should know what I mean. I believe that you are a clever enough man. There's not many trustworthy people that can be counted on in this city. I believe that you and I could have something here. Our paths are destined to be entwined. In more ways than one._

_Best Regards,_

_O._

_PS You might want to burn this letter after you've read it. Just a piece of friendly advice._

James Gordon scratched at his scalp as he read the strange little letter he found on his desk. He pressed his finger to his eyebrow then dragged it down his face and nibbled on the tip as he scanned the words again. He felt the need to read the paper for a third time as he tapped his left forefinger on the desk absentmindedly. He doesn't want to think about how it got here, Then, he just stared uncomprehendingly at the odd, handwritten letter. He managed not to jump when someone opened the door and said something that he wouldn't remember later. Jim didn't look up.

Who the hell is "O"? Oswald was the most likely candidate, but Jim couldn't figure out what the hell compelled that man to write to him. What did that sad little fool want? Jim hoped that he wasn't serious about the whole "entwined paths" thing. What a pile of horse shit that was. Especially since it sounded vaguely like an innuendo, maybe even a come on. What the hell? There would definitely be a problem if Jim continued his correspondence and association with Cobblepot.

He considered burning the letter like the postscript suggestion. After a moment of deliberation, he discovered that he could not go through with it and hid the letter away. He was still very puzzled. He also had a strange feeling in his gut, which was never a good omen.

Deciding to move on from this weird start to his day, he dug out the papers he needed to look over for the case. The Wayne case was on the back-burner for the time being but always simmering. He had other fish to fry, and he was yet to get a break on that case anyway. Hopefully something would come along soon. He had to keep looking. What he didn't need was to get chewed out for focusing entirely on that one.

* * *

 

"Post 1x07"

An incessant pounding on the door is what wakes him. Immediately upon waking, his initial thought is of the detective.

His James was safe.

Of all things that mattered, that stood out. Yes, he was foiling Mooney, turning her world upside down. Sure, Maroni and Falcone were in the palm of his hand. They were his puppets - no, his pawns. He was extremely adept at chess when he had played the game years ago, which had translated into excellent strategist skills. Jim Gordon would have to be his knight then.

He stretched, arching his back somewhat. He twisted cautiously to get his feet to the floor, and he tried to ignore the twinge in his leg at the movement. He managed to get upright and make his way to the bathroom. He turned on the water cold, to ensure that his mind would not wander too far into dirty places. He attempted to stay on considering what he had yet to do, as all he had accomplished was just the beginning of a long, arduous journey. It was useless, as his mind was insistent on being consumed with thoughts of Detective Gordon.

Trusting Gordon had been a slight gamble, but one that had paid in full. Only, he had not expected how his dealings with the man would ultimately affect him. Gordon could not be protected forever if it did not line up with Oswald's goals, and as such he had stepped into a situation where devastation was inevitable.

In his darkest moments, Oswald imagined being the one to finish it. He would take the knife, and he would lovingly twist the blade into Jim's heart and hold him as the life left his body. His wilder fantasies would include stolen kisses, and occasionally the writhing of their nude, sweat soaked bodies with soft yellow light casting over them. James would promise his eternal allegiance and vow his fidelity. Oswald would kiss his lover slowly and deep, whose pure heart was likely to be his downfall, and say that he would not have to worry about making good on his promise. Then he would tenderly slice open his throat, allowing the blood to taint his pale fingers.

First, he would gain Fish Mooney's confidence, for she was a wild card. Since there was nothing but hatred and revenge sought on her part, Oswald's every move would have to be extra careful. It would simply be easier to have the complete advantage. It needn't be mentioned that Mooney's ire put James at risk. Never would he allow her to lay a single finger nail on a hair of Jim's head, much less actually harm him. Thinking of her immediately quelled his arousal, and he turned off the water, focusing on his indifference toward her eventual messy end as he got dressed.

He stepped into the dining room, where his breakfast awaited. He picked at his meal, and he thought about his mother's words. He glanced slyly at her. No, there was certainly no hussy but instead a wholesome man. Besides that, it was solely in the hidden depths of his mind where they were together, for the possibility of it becoming reality was slim to none. He chuckled to himself. Used to his strange antics, his mother did not so much as spare him a glance.

"You need to eat. Keep your strength up," she lectured. He sighed and slid a hand down his face, yet he complied and began to shovel the food into his mouth.

"Will you be bringing the cop over? I'd be delighted to meet him," she announced suddenly, in a way that it was apparent she would interrogate and unsettle him the moment he stepped through the threshold. Oswald made a vague noise and waved his hand in the air. She peered at him expectantly, and he trudged on.

"Much to do, people to see. I probably won't see him today," he asserted quickly, cringing at his poor choice of words. As expected, there was a deeply suspicious look on his mother's face.

"Your eyes light up when you talk about him," she said accusingly, pointing at him. He rolled his eyes to disguise his inner panic. He knew she would not like the rude gesture, so he did it in an effort to direct her attention.

"He's a - a good friend, that's all. A person that - who is diff - just someone I can trust," he assured her vaguely, tossing in a stutter for good measure.

Once, finding his words was a problem for him, a cause of ridicule. Now it was a tool, or a refined technique that he utilized with practiced ease. She appeared to be soothed, if only for the moment. He grabbed what he needed and hurried to escape her scrutiny. He worried that his stumbling over his answer actually made him come off as guilty and had cemented her suspicions, which had not been his intention. He could not dwell on the possible mistake he had made, for now he had to charge ahead.

Today would be brutal, as per usual. It was a common theme when it came to his run-ins with that vile woman.

The tap of his umbrella against the pavement, was the only sound his mind registered, lost in his musing as he was.

"Stop," the man guarding the door bellowed unnecessarily.

Ever patient, Oswald told him, "Please stand aside sir, I can assure you that I am expected."

The man eyed him disbelievingly but obliged the request.

He knocked on the door and waited, barely fighting the smirk off his face. None of the cowards who had pushed him around knew what was coming to them. In time, he would cease to cower before anyone.

When showing himself to be alive, he knew the risks. He was always ten steps ahead, and no one was the wiser. However, a gnawing terror had gripped him when he heard about Victor. However, he was certain that James could effectively fight off any adversaries on his own. Oswald was attending to important business when it all went down.

Admittedly, Gordon had the potential to become his greatest weakness. If he let it get the best of him, it would bite him in the ass at the most inconvenient moment. He would fail. That did not stop him from requesting that Falcone spare Gordon's life. He could be reasoned with, and Oswald could be incredibly persuasive. He was still infuriated about Zsasz, and Jim being hurt, though it wasn't fatal, but he could not show what he was feeling inside. He had to seem as rational as humanly possible.

Oswald did not date, that was true. It simply had no place in his schemes. Even before this all started, there was no place for frivolous behavior. He did try it once, and he was not keen on having another go. Despite this, he felt like he would do most anything for James. In his free time, rare though it was, he spent imagining what a romantic evening with him would be like. It was absurd, because Jim Gordon would never waste his time.

Truth be told, he had experienced a shadow of a doubt on that dock, a wavering in his confidence. For a moment he had feared that James would kill him. He had been right to have made the bet, banking his future on the conscience of one spectacular man. As a result, he had come out of it having pledged his life to said man.

That was his first mistake.

His second was believing that he was prepared for everything that could possibly go wrong.

* * *

 

Jim stomped over and threw the papers down angrily on his partner's desk. Harvey looked at him with eyebrows slightly raised. Jim closed a fist and pressed it down on the papers. He hung his head, shaking it slightly.

"This is not what I want."

They proceeded to argue loudly over the problem. Harvey gave as good as he got, holding his ground and not backing off. Likewise, Jim was determined. Gotham was in a sad state of affairs, and if he had to be the sole person to help the city get its act together, then so be it. He was hardly some hero, but he wasn't prepared to stand by and watch either.

He went back into his office and looked over the file again. There had to be something that was missing, a connection waiting to be made. He considered questioning that person there, he had little doubt that she was hiding something important. He was so engrossed in what he was doing, he almost missed the commotion. He barely registered some out of place snickering that preceded shouting that did not line up with the previous noise.

Concerned and more than a little alarmed, he rushed out. One man was laying on the floor moaning in pain, the other was seemingly trying to melt into his chair, with a knife pressed into his neck. A third man, dressed in black and white with a hat covering his eyes sneered at the other, with a white-knuckle grip on the knife handle.

"That's enough! Back away! What's going on here?"

Jim rushed forward and wrapped his hand around the wrist of the would be perpetrator. He tugged on the arm, and to his surprise the man backed off.

"Ah, James Gordon, just the man I was looking for," the voice drawled.

He could not comprehend why, but he knew undoubtedly that he would recognize that voice anywhere. His eyes narrowed and he straightened his back. He attempted to look Oswald Cobblepot in the eye, despite the hat.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why don't we step into the office to have a private chat?" Cobblepot asserted firmly.

Grudgingly, Jim waved an arm in a "follow me" gesture. The other man complied, trudging slowly behind him. Jim walked slowly, not wanting to rush him, just in case. He would rather not be on the receiving end of that knife.

Once they were safe behind the door, Cobblepot spoke.

"I've got information for you."

Jim did not waste any time. He grabbed the neck of Cobblepot's shirt and pushed him into the wall.

"Are you trying to get me in trouble?!" Jim growled.

"I have the situation under my control," Cobblepot countered nonchalantly, shrugging slightly.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

"I know what is to come, and Gotham will soon be in my grip!"

"What are you some kind of Seer? I don't have time for this."

"I cannot explain. You must trust me," Cobblepot demanded, glaring James in the eyes now that his hat had fallen off.

"Trust you? You must be joking!" Jim shook his head, chuckling as he put the darker haired man back on his feet. He swept his hand through his black locks, staring at James with indignation.

Cobblepot raised his pointed chin defiantly.

"I have already proven to you my worth as a valuable ally," He insisted innocently. Jim glowered.

"You said you have information for me," Jim stated gruffly.

"Oh, not here, silly, silly," Cobblepot argued somewhat flippantly, "However, I have an idea of where we could meet and when. I'll write it down."

"Alright then, let's see," Jim urged, quietly hoping he wouldn't live to regret his decision to work with this man, whose crooked minded ways could prove unpredictable.

After a while of conversing of their plans, Cobblepot cut in sharply, "Glad we could come to an agreement. I must be going. I bet you want to get back to that fiancee of yours. Assuming that's still a thing?"

"I don't know actually," Gordon blurted without intending to. the other man rose an eyebrow in response, tilting his head.

Oswald's hand darted out to rest on his shoulder seemingly of its own accord and he wondered when he had gotten so close to the other. He found himself sliding his hand down the man's shoulder. With a mental reprimand of his unseemly behavior, he tugged his hand away as if it were on fire. He barely noted that James was staring at the spot, feeling as if his entire arm were on fire.

"Problems? An affair? I very well choose not to fool around too much with the likes of women. Much too complicated for how simple it should be, I think," he grumbled, tapping his fingers together in an almost menacing way.

Jim sighed. He did that a lot lately. He reflected that his personal life was not anyone's business. However, he unfortunately didn't have anyone he could really talk to. Harvey wouldn't understand. He would either make fun of Jim's misfortune or turn it into a joke.

"I don't know, leave it alone, it's none of your business!" He shouted suddenly, despite his previous musings.

How interesting. You will have to tell me more, but I really must be leaving," Oswald stuttered out, rubbing his hands together. He was caught off guard by Gordon's outburst. It was reminiscent of- no, he wasn't going to think about that experience. Gordon stared at him expressionlessly. Oswald waited patiently for the man to become distracted by something. It would ruin everything if he was ridiculed. He chewed on his lip and continued to rub his hands.

"What?" Gordon questioned tonelessly.

"Um-I-you see-well there's this thing, can you maybe, read your papers, I'm sure you've still got a lot to go over, since I, well, interrupted you and all," he gritted out, impatient with his own stuttered speech. He was doing well before. There was more work to be done, it seemed. How worthless and pathetic he was. One day everyone would see the greatness that he was just waiting to unleash.

"I don't understand what you mean," Gordon grumbled with little emotion.

"I don't want you to watch me because then you'll laugh like all the others or say something that will make me want to carve you like a turkey, do you understand that?! Just look away so you don't have the opportunity! I am not broken! I am not!" He yelled, stomping his foot.

Jim stared at the man with wide eyes. Some of the outburst had made little sense. As he unwound the words in his mind, the meaning behind them became clear. He had to tread carefully. Cobblepot looked, in a word, murderous.

"I noticed your, ah, limp earlier. It appears to be a serious condition that didn't receive the appropriate medical care, and you should know that I don't find enjoyment at others' expense in that way," he explained carefully.

The other man stared at Jim unblinkingly for a fairly long stretch of time. He blinked rapidly as if coming out of a stupor. He mumbled incoherently, giving Detective Gordon a quick nod. Pulling his hands apart, he turned and walked to the door. He found his limp to be less pronounced than before. After reaching the door, he turned to peer at the Detective speculatively. Gordon stared back. He sniffed, satisfied. He opened the door and slinked out.

Jim let out a long sigh and dropped his head on the desk with a loud thunk.

Taking a deep breath, James Gordon stepped into his home. His fiancee was waiting of course and immediately berated him with questions. Many of them related to the cases he was working on, some were accusatory. He suffered them calmly.

He had been thrown through a loop because of one Oswald Cobblepot's unexpected visit. Of course the little rodent wouldn't stay out of Gotham. Jim doesn't understand now why he thought for a moment that the man would listen. There are signs everywhere that he is some sort of psychopathic criminal in the making, but Jim didn't heed them as weak as they were before he fake killed the guy.

That strange feeling takes his gut again. He manages to splutter out some answers to his fiancee that cause her to throw her arms in the air and walk away. He is far from the mood to deal with it. Usually he is a lot more patient and doesn't demonize her so much. He does love her, every good trait, quirk and fault. Lately he feels like he's falling apart. As if he'll only be repaired himself after Gotham gets some sort of makeover. He scratches his scalp and runs his fingers back and forth under his nose.

He wished that he had a mustache. Maybe he should grow one. It could make him more menacing. On the other hand, it might just look silly.

_"Oh, not here, silly, silly."_

Jim shivered at the memory of the silky words. He doesn't remember them having such implication, but now, in his memory, he can only hear it as some sort of innuendo. He shakes his head in annoyance. He should really stop seeing innuendos in things relating to Cobblepot. It was utterly bizarre. The whole occurrence was like a strange dream. He's convinced it was real though, because why in the world would he dream about that Cobblepot and his conniving eel-like features and inky black hair. He hadn't even remembered that well what he looked like when he'd dropped him in the water.

He was losing his mind, clearly. More likely, he needed some sleep. It would all make sense in the morning. When he crawled onto the couch he was struck by the memory of a firm hand sliding over his shoulder, sending a feeling like an electric current turning into fire through his arm. He became vaguely aware of a slight pooling of heat in a lower area. He fell asleep with thoughts of a piercing gaze before its owner fled his presence as suddenly as he'd crashed into his life.

* * *

 

When he heard a familiar voice, a voice that made his stomach bottom out so painfully that he was almost unaware of the blood that squirted and oozed from the wound after he had torn the knife back through it so violently.

"Everyone freeze and drop your weapons!"

Oswald jumped to his feet. His shattered knee sent waves of pain up the right side of his body, and he crumpled halfway to the floor. From the corner of his eye, he saw Fish make a small gesture to the man behind her. The newcomer seemed oblivious. A brief flicker, their eyes met, causing a distraction. Oswald flung his body forward as a gunshot rang out, leaving a condemning silence shortly thereafter.

Together, Jim and Oswald helped each other up.

"I have this handled!" Oswald insisted urgently, pushing James toward the exit.

"Listen, you need to-"

"No you listen!" Oswald cut in, "This is not your concern. Not your fight. You need to leave, now!"

"Why are being so impossible? I know what I'm doing. In a matter of minutes this place can be surrounded as soon as I find what I'm looking for. I can help you, Cobblepot. You don't have to do this alone!"

Oswald blinked in disbelief at Gordon's useless rattling. They were wasting time, or rather, the other man was. Oswald pushed hard on his shoulder.

"You don't understand," he hissed, now extremely annoyed. He whipped out his knife and pressed it against the detective's neck. He ignored the cold feeling in his stomach and clenching in his chest in response to the familiar action.

"What are you doing? You're the one that dragged me into this," James growled angrily.

Suddenly, the wall beside Gordon's head exploded and littered debris on the floor. Oswald sucked in a breath, pushing his hand as hard as he could against the detective's back, sending him stumbling out of the way, as another gunshot whizzed by.

Together, they raced into an alley, staying alert for signs of their adversaries. Following Gordon's unwanted interference, Oswald's plans had backfired on him dangerously. Their peril was real, and he had a sinking feeling one of them was not going to survive the confrontation.

"You've had it out for me since day one, haven't you, you little rat?"

The voice of his former boss made him cringe. The injury to his leg ached as a reminder. It would have been over, all over if only he had gotten his way. He should have known something was bound to go wrong sooner or later, no matter how carefully he had it planned out.

A burly man with a gun pursued them, but clearly he was more interested in taking out Gordon first, before he would even think of dealing with Oswald. His heart was racing and not only because of physical exertion. The rapid sound of shoes on asphalt and pavement seemed in harmony with his heartbeat. He let out a harsh exhale of air when in a moment all he could see was the gun pointed at Jim Gordon's chest. It was not right. He had to get back his control. If that man died, he would have been fooling himself that he had been ever on his way to having Gotham City in the palm of his hand.

An instant later, Oswald was shoving James to the ground, safely out of the way of the bullet. However, he did not have enough time to get himself out of harm's way. There was a sharp pain, and it felt as though his chest was on fire. He clutched at his heart and sunk to his knees. Everything around him went silent, as though cotton had been stuffed in his ears.

"Cobblepot!"

That voice, that heart tugging, groin burning timber shattered the illusion easily. Oswald gasped, pressing his hand down on the aching wound.

"It's fine. You're OK. Everything's going to be fine," Gordon murmured, his hand clutching one of Oswald's shoulders which kept him from meeting the ground completely. Several gunshots rang out. Oswald raised his gaze, flicking over Gordon's deep blue orbs before raking it along his arm to see he had his gun raised. Bullets crashed into walls and went by quickly over their heads.

Oswald managed to let out a short laugh. The gunfight appeared to end, though there were voices shouting in the distance. Gordon lifted him to his feet, ignoring his grunts of protest. He walked him over to the nearby wall, allowing him to slide to the ground.

"I have to call someone. We're nowhere near the car," Gordon informed him grimly.

"You are not taking me to the hospital," Oswald ground out. He let out a gasp of pain after speaking, and then grimaced that he wasn't able to keep a hold on himself.

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"The ambulance would probably be to late anyway. I'm going to die, I can feel it," Oswald rasped.

"Don't talk like that! I don't think it pierced your heart, so you're going to be fine."

"You are delusional. You are the most sincere, honest man I have ever met, but you are also delusional." Great, now he was rambling. Clearly his mind was falling part if he had actually said that out loud. He thought he heard Gordon say something about "carrying" and "apartment" and "medical training", but he ignored him.

He was being shifted then, the other man forcing his arm around his neck against his will. Oswald clenched his teeth as an arm snuck its way under his legs, and he was lifted into the air. James grunted with the effort of picking up a full grown man, skinny or not.

"Put me down! This is undignified."

"Too bad, I'm not leaving you here to die!"

He sighed, and he knew he should have expected chivalrous, misguided behavior from that man. He really wasn't worth the trouble. Sure, all of his carefully executed plans would have gone to waste in the event of his death, but there were times when he thought about the inevitability of losing his life. Having a man such as Jim Gordon by his side had put the odds in his favor, and he had in fact known, somehow, that he could count on the man.

After he patched Oswald up, Jim fell asleep beside him on the couch. Oswald stared at his face for a few minutes, endeared. Then, he slipped away into the night.

* * *

 

Jim arrived at the station the next morning to find Cobblepot waiting for him. To his absolute horror, he was having a glaring contest with Jim's partner.

"Did I miss something?" He glanced between them, showing his concern plainly on his face. Cobblepot briefly raked his eyes over Jim's features, an action that was not missed by Harvey.

"Oh. You're lovers," Harvey stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Does he fuck you or do you shove it in him?"

Jim shook his head and managed not to blush because he had lost the capacity to be embarrassed by those types of accusations a long time ago. Cobblepot's eyes went hard and Jim noticed a slight glint far below eye level. He glanced toward the movement to see the other man toying with what looked to be a small knife in his hand. He blanched. No way would he, no matter how unstable, bleed Jim's partner all over the floor over a silly comment. He stepped between them just in case. Bullock, naturally, could not just shut his mouth. Apparently he was oblivious to Cobblepot's murderous intent.

"Or you switch it up then? How do you decide who -"

"Stop. We're not… lovers," Jim replied briskly, "Or anything. You are ridiculous, this whole conversation is simply pointless."

He winced at his own words, hoping they did not sound like someone who was in denial. He certainly was not. Not him, not about Oswald Cobblepot, who was nearly the whole reason his life was a complete mess.

"Obviously, because he is a simpleton, unlike you darling," Cobblepot added, tilting his head to smile sweetly at Jim. His belligerent demeanor had somehow softened and appeared almost adoring, and the curve of his lips was wholly self-assured and a little inviting. Faced with his unnervingly besotted look, Jim struggled to keep from either avoiding it and taking a particular interest in his own shoes or committing murder by strangulation.

"Not helping," Jim groused as he gave the clearly bold man a firmly disapproving stare. Cobblepot laughed like it was all a great big wonderful joke. In the wake of his throaty chuckles, Jim felt a strange sensation in his spine. He found that he could not break their shared gaze. The other's grin dropped, and he narrowed his eyes, his clever brain churning with thoughts no doubt. Jim wondered how far his intelligence really went.

He pondered briefly about the idea of talking to him on a personal level, finding out about his past and what really made him tick. He had only a brief moment to be nonplussed (he didn't even smoke, why was this happening?) by those sudden thoughts because of course, Harvey could not be expected to contain himself for very long.

"Didn't think you had it in ya Gordon. What would your Barbara think?" Bullock rubbed his hands together, smiling conspiratorially at an unsettled Jim before nodding like he had it all figured out, "Hmm, is she in on it I wonder?"

"Oh for God's sake! This conversation is over," Jim all but shouts. Harvey marched off, snickering the entire time he remained within earshot, shooting smug looks back at Jim.

Cobblepot's ears were a more red than usual as he slid past the detective. He dared to act so coyly, Jim thought with disbelief, as if the unpredictable little fink had not flirtatiously called him an endearment and proceeded to expressly suggest what should not be spoken of so carelessly in the middle of the station for any person to hear, including Harvey standing right by them. Jim watched as he practically tripped over himself making a hasty exit, puzzled that only moments ago he had seemed completely at ease.

Perhaps he was nervous to be alone with Jim and face the consequences of his behavior? That was odd. How could that man be confident and unfazed one moment, then jumpy and ruffled the next? He was a complex puzzle that a part of Jim doubted that he could ever solve, yet Jim was yearning to try. Thinking back, he realized he had practically gawked at Cobblepot before his partner had interrupted, and he felt very dismayed that he had sent the wrong message.

When he shuffled through some files it dawned on him that he had been checking out the man's ass while he was making his retreat. Filled with a certain kind of dread, he looked up to see Harvey peering at him from across the room. When he noticed that Jim had left his daydream state, he raised his eyebrows and offered an insufferably smug grin.

Jim was at least relieved that Oswald had not noticed, or he would be dealing with a slew of new problems. It occurred to him that he really had no idea if the guy was single or even what his orientation was, disregarding his suspicions based on what little he truly knew about him. He also could not quite grasp why he was even thinking about it.

He was not certain whether he hoped Cobblepot would be disgusted by his interest (that he would definitely never act on) or if the blush meant that he was secretly pining after the detective. Jim figured the former would be the easiest turnout, god forbid it ever came up, because then Jim could move on with his life. He would not dare admit to anyone ever that he briefly wished it was the latter, due to the bizarre thrill the mere idea sent through him.

Later, Harvey would quickly whisper in his ear asking something about nesting and how many eggs the Penguin would lay. And what names Jim had in mind for the babies. Jim was pretty sure his partner was on some kind of drug, but he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear regardless.


End file.
